He’s Our Hero

We had bitten off more than we could chew with the militant deforesters, entered into a camp that was bigger, better prepared, and more organized than we had expected. Scampering like mad through the maze of tents, canopies, and equipment, angry bodies coming at us from all sides, we finally found cover in a deep ditch, just as a rain of bullets began to patter the embankment above us.

We needed help.

Raising our rings, the five of us began the summons as always, but within moments, I could feel something was changed, wrong, missing. The process complete, we all turned to each other, only to see one of our own laying motionless on the damp, stony earth. I rushed over to him, raised his yellow-ringed hand to feel for a pulse, but he was already gone; he must have been hit by a bullet after the summoning had begun.

As one, we turned our tear-filled eyes to the heavens, watched as our hero descended, but there was a wrongness to him. He said nothing as he took in the chaos below him, said nothing as he slaughtered the militants around us. It was over in moments, some incinerated, some drowned or frozen solid, and some entirely dismembered.

And then he turned to us.

There was no heart in the soulless gaze of the cosmic-powered golem floating before us, just the unbridled rage of a planet in pain and the promise of vengeance.

He raised his hands and I lowered my head and waited for the end, hoping it would be quick.